The Anatomy of Pain
by black rose97
Summary: The body is an amazing thing. After all the punishment and damage, it still gets up and fights. The physical form is something to marvel at its beauty. Random character-centered drabbles. Kevin is up!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys!A new one shot series here. I really love the ending to A day in the Life of Gwen. The music Emily was playing was simply beautiful. I found her character...annoying. No one is that happy, her face was too bright and joyful over nothing. I notice some holes in her and Gwen's relationship, I couldn't resist! I feel like she and Kevin could really get along! One of these days, I'll write them interacting. Anyway enjoy the fic!**

**(Note: ETNRL4L I know you said you would edit it for me but I can't wait! Curse my impatiences! And I know your busy. Don't worry about it!:P)**

**Disclaimer: _Can I really own Ben 10? Come on now...think a little. (I don't)_**

Chapter 1: My Positive Cacophony

The blonde allows the sweet melody of the piano to wrap around her softly as she sits alone empty auditorium. Emily's symphony plays off the grand walls and vibrates through the windows in the roof. She gently falls from her gusto and changes her back interval to speed up. Her delicate fingers press on each key with graceful elegance. Her head rocks to the rhythm in short concise bobs. Her pink lips mumble something to go along with the melody of her work. The young girl herself didn't know what she is saying but it fits.

When she plays, Emily loves to forget. She pulls herself away from whatever is in the world and allows the keys, notes, and sounds to become her universe. On the piano, she is God creating life with each stroke of her hand and flick of her wrist. She doesn't even care to see if what she makes sounds good. If her creation is a Frankenstein of random keys and disconnected scales played in forte, so be it. Her work, her art, isn't about beauty or the perfect sound.

Emily slams her finger tips on the edge of the keys ripping the innocent melody into sherds.

No...it is never about that.

Emily's hands slowly fall from the keys to her lap, they were still humming with adrenalin. She glares through her fingers then her school skirt at her legs. With burning eyes, she wills the pent up energy from her hands to move to her limp legs. She feels a twitch in her thigh- or is it a spasm in her ankle? She can't tell the difference. Then there is nothing more.

The young pianist cringes and swallows back her anger. _Positivity is key _she thinks. Bad thoughts wouldn't maker her legs work any faster. Emily grips her thin wheels and backs away from the grand piano. With practice ease she maneuvers off the stages and down the ramp they installed just for her.

Yes, Bellwood Preparatory had to keep their prized pity story comfortable encase any journalist wants to come by for a news story. _"A real tear jerker to rattle the 6 pm show."_ She chuckles darkly to her self as she exits the stage. Yes, she is just a cute little spectacle. No one listens to her artwork, her creations. They all come to see the little crippled girl play Beethoven. _Look at her!_ _She is a fighter, a dreamer! How adorable is she? _They clap and cheer and smile up at her while they look down on her.

Adorable indeed.

As she rolls over the marble flooring she plasters on a smile, calculates the correct cheery factor, and adds some confidence in there for good measure. Positive.

She sees a beautiful red head chatting on the phone and frantically taking things in and out of her locker. Gwen. Perfect, smart, loving Gwen. Super natural, alien fighting hero. Gwen is something amazing. Something amazing that Emily could never be. This conclusion can be maddening at some points. Such as life, Emily has long cut off any disabling bitterness towards her best friend. Hating Gwen would do nothing for the damaged girl. Emily has convinced herself that hating Gwen isn't right.

"Hi Em!" A red head calls from her locker as she hangs up the phone. With a wave of her hand, Gwen gestures for best friend to walk- no roll- over to her. "finish piano practice?"

"Yeah! You wanna go to the library and study for Mr. Ferigan's calculus test?" Emily's smile is too bright. A better friend would have caught that.

"Sure but can I get a rain check for late on tonight? Kevin and Ben called me. We need to check out a warehouse. You know, alien business." Gwen isn't the kind of friend that notices.

"No, it's cool. I understand. Don't worry about it."

"So when I'm done I'll have Kevin drop me off out your house and we can walk to the library."

"Sounds like a plan!" The teen hero bends down to kiss Emily on the top of her head. Blue eyes are blinded by the curtain of red and Emily picks up a hint of her perfume. The wheel chair bound girl is happy to see that her best friend still wears their matching necklaces.

"I gotta go but I'll see you tonight okay?" She rushes off too soon and forgets to close her locker door and leaves her back pack on the ground. Being the loyal friend she is, Emily picks up after her friend. Emily knows she's busy with saving the world to notice such mundane things like closing lockers and getting her books. But Emily? She is _all_ _about_ the mundane, the regular.

The locker doesn't close quick enough on the books. She isn't tall enough to stack them on the upper shelf. They tumbled down into her lap. The heavy textbooks are nothing to her but she lets out an involuntary yelp. There would be a bruise but there was no painful pay off. She sighs and collects the scattered papers on the floor. In the back of her mind, Emily secretly wishes the unexpected injury would spark some life in her and hurt. Just a bit of pain so she could know that this seemingly dead half of her truly had life. No such luck.

Emily wheels away and into the complex layout of her school. The stainless steel lockers are devoid of individuality. The marble pillars and intricate moldings lining the ceiling are squeaky clean thanks to Consuela. The award case where she catches her reflection is fill with first place medals and trophies. Only the best to be put on display. The decadent campus spews of the wealth upper middle class. It's sharp lines, elegant styles, and imported wares are indulgent of the spoiled lifestyle she and many of the other students here lead. Like them, like who she is suppose to be, the school is perfect. Everything is neat, clean, and pretty.

Emily examines her face a bit longer than she herself is comfortable with. She decides that she embodies that unofficial motto: neat, clean, and pretty. But she is missing the critical piece.

Perfection.

The handicap girl is half wrong. She can't fully be what the school is all about. But don't worry, even this imperfect model still has a place. She is a piece of diversity that upper middle class people love to boost they have. The girl in the wheel chair is her title, her name sake. As long as she and all the other pieces of diversity stay neat, clean, and pretty, they are loved and prized. Like Rayquan and his sharp, close shaved head, warm brown skin, earring-less ears or Jamie Hicks, the under the poverty line scholarship student who is given not only a uniform but charity clothes so she has something presentable to wear for picture day.

The halls were nearly empty save for a few band members who just finish packing away their instruments and a hand full of kids staying after for tutoring. They chat and murmur amongst themselves, some greet her as they pass. All of them are smiling.

_What is a frown to them? _Emily muses. Missing a play at practice or leaving their cell phone in the last class, that's what. Frowns are fleeting things that never last for long. For them, frowns are the resultant of problems, problems that will eventually get solved.

Emily wheels pass them and out the side door which didn't have the grand steps like the front did. She isn't smiling.

She breathes in air, real air that hasn't been stewing in pretentious grandeur, and it feels good but it's numb. The sun shines down at her not on her. The rays touch her legs and of course she can't feel the spring time warmth. Nothing new.

Her legs aren't hers but own by that near fatal accident. She has no use for them- or better yet- they have no use for her. Her legs are content sitting all day in this wheel chair. They don't care if Emily can ever run or walk or dance again.

She needs them, they don't need her. If anything, she should be grateful that they weren't ripped off by the car and that the nerves aren't completely damaged. She should be thankful that they are still there for her. She should be thankful that she is even alive. But she can't manage it.

She is a pessimist at heart.

Peace in it's own right, being negative is a dark cup of coffee. It's bitter and burning hot but the pure caffeine has a way of dulling you to it's off putting side. It's like eating chocolate while dating Ben. Emily allows herself a real smiles at the thought.

Weird, smiling is strange. The facial movement is a good friend and a foreign stranger to the girl. She smiles all the time. People tell her it's beautiful. But the emotion only goes skin deep. Emily's smiles are rarely genuine.

The pianist rolls her body down the street. The loud noises of positivity are too hard to ignore. The bashing, crashing fits of sound screams at her all the time. _Positivity is key! Positivity is key! POSITIVITY IS KEY! _

She is an optimist in her mind.

She succumbs to the demand and paints on that beautiful smile everyone loves so much and plays the part of the adorable girl in the wheel chair who plays Beethoven.

That fighting hope. That pitiful dream. That convincing facade. That damn good lie. Whatever it is she does it well.

**Ahhh Emily! I really like this look on her. I was watching True Life one time about how this young teen become blind by a rare genetic disorder and it ruined his life. He was didn't respond to the constant mantra of being happy and positive and was very cynical and depressed. It was really sad and that's my transpiration go this. These drabbles are focused on the idea of body mutilation/ self harm so be prepared for some...deep things. Well...Tell me what you think! In a review. Please? Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**We don't know Sunny's parents and how she is Gwen's cousin and Verdonna's grandchild when Verdonna only has two sons. I assumed that Verdonna had an anodyte daughter with some random guy years before Max and her mom had the full 70 years of training. Also, there are some allusion to physically/sexual abuse so please be prepared. It's pretty light( not full on rape or molestation) but it's there. **

**I hope you enjoy!**

Chapter 2: Spoiled Rotten

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><p>The girl looks over each curve and raise on her face. Each bit of skin-human skin- is perfect in its design. Her lips her full and round, her brilliant sky blue eyes are shaded by thick eyelashes. Long strands of onyx falls down her back and over her shoulders.<p>

Sunny is a pretty girl.

Sunny presses her cheekbones and runs her finger over her eyebrow. What a beautiful monster in the mirror. She could create any body she wants. The options are totally limitless. She could be model thin, thick and curved, or cutely petite. Skin color is nothing more then child's paint to her. Cocoa brown, ivory pale, warm cinnamon; they could be wash away and reapplied without much inconvenience. She could be anyone she wants yet she is bond to _her _beauty.

Therefore Gwen is a pretty girl too.

"Are you ready Sunny?" Her boyfriend calls from the window. His fangs gleam in the the light and his arms are open to receive her. Sunny thinks for a second _"What I'm I sneaking from?"_ No one would care that she was gone. Actually,they expect to find her tumbling back home, covered in the scent of boys and one too many parties.

She sheds her human coat and frees the energy form underneath. The walls of mana act likes a nervous system that webs her body. Her touch and feel are hyper sensitive. Her body is consume by Antonio's presence.

His burly arms are rough. The hairs on his arm are prickly and he hugs her too tightly. He doesn't know his own strength in relation to the outside world. Everything is too much with him. He clearly isn't design to love. This brute is made for smashing and destruction. But maybe that's why Sunny is so attracted to him.

She herself isn't design to be loved or receive concern. Such things are lost to her. She wasn't raised by a mom who tucked her in every night and kissed her goodnight. She didn't have stories read to her or have a strong daddy to chase away the monsters. Sunny did have a credit card and a nanny. She did know when all the latest parties started and what time her mother would be home from universe hopping.

She is the mirror image of her mother and embodies what her grandma used to be long ago. She is the product of generations of careless women who do as they please with unknown, unimportant human men. Each were looking for a thrill, the next new thing, because the last isn't enough to satisfy them. The next won't be either.

The mentality of get now and think never has been ingrain in her very gene code. She can't deny or resist it, only embrace what is given to her. She can't ever have her fill. She will never stop wanting, needing things. Pretty things. Sunny is built to crave everything at once and get bored with it later on. Antonio was Tyler who is Francis that once was Pierre who might turn into some guy at the bar. So let her be destroyed as she strings him along. She enjoys the risk because she knows she deserves it. The thrill is part of the punishment. A kiss with a sharp slap. Delicious.

Good guys, guys who might promise not to crash her physically or mentally, made her feel guilty. And when you live in a world centered around yourself, guilt isn't an emotion you want to feel.

Sunny doesn't like good guys.

"Hey baby!" Her voice is disgusting but conveys the ditzy high of a dazed teenage girl. Sunny thought it suits her just fine. She gives him a kiss- or whatever anodites give when their mouth holes touch someone else's- and her soulless eyes are bright.

In a blink, she transports them to Achadom. The sky line is a bright green with daring blue stars that resembles a second grader's rendition of an ideal Earth night sky. But it's day here and the shadows fall in kaleidoscopic reflections. Billions of extra hot suns all shining down on her, magnificent magenta energy glistens in the light. Her deep purple anatomy is flawless and takes on a slight blue tint from the stars.

Sunny is a beautiful being.

Her and her boyfriend walk down the flat rock terrain of the planet. Teens of different alien forms come and dance in the dusty rocks. Beings made of fire, weeds, and pure water just splash and crash in front of her. Their bodies move to the rhythm of remixed Achadomia folk music. Molten rock crackles and bulging muscles flex. Averaging about four eyes per person, each pairs of eyes are fired up with freedom and rebellion. Shadows twist and mingle with each other. Smiles all around.

Everyone is beautiful.

Sunny could feel her anger burn as her hair snakes out from its usual thick whip shape. Call it daddy issues, blame it on maternal neglect, but Sunny couldn't stand being just as beautiful as everyone else. She is special! She is something more, everyone needs to realize this! She is the best. Sunny, number one. _The _pretty girl.

That's what she tells herself.

When you can be anyone, you are no one. Sunny knows this better than anyone. She constantly needs a mask, a persona, something to be. Teen party girl was her favorite, rebelling daughter, powerful anodite, some girl at the bar. The list went on and on. She is nothing without them.

Paint piles off eventually, bodies decompose. Faces, and beauty, don't last long enough. So when flesh starts to rot and make-up becomes smeared, apply on a fresh coat. Force the beauty to stay. Chain that piece of person down just a bit longer, it's all she has. Sunny couldn't write more than a sentence about herself but the only thing she ever talked about _was_ herself. Lost under the rubble of who she wants she was and the girl they think they know, Sunny is completely gone.

"Antonio, I'm beautiful right?" She needs the reassurance, a mirror to check her foundation. The monster cringes a bit.

"My name is Mario," Yes, how could she forget? " and you are the most beautiful thing here." He pulls her in for another face hole touch. The feeling is explosive and not completely consensual and she registers a thrill from the force of the action. He doesn't know better and she could feel him try to erase that other guy's name from her memory. His thick hands threatens to squash her sides together. She could make him stop. She could quickly leave him incapacitated on the floor, blast his hands off his body, or even decapitate him with a flip of her "hair". But that isn't part of the game.

He frees her face but not her body. "Let's get something to drink."

Bring on the hot mercury body shots and tetrahydrocannabinol- mavos. She lets the poison short out her mana and intensify all other energies. Party girl can handle her Galvanic Mechamorph 's liquor. Rebellious daughter doesn't care if she is too young to be drinking. Sunny is egged on by the audience. Someone to pay attention to her and scream her name.

"I'm game!" The crowd cheers and people follow the young anodyte to the hovering tables filled with smoking drinks. The show beings.

Is it pure desperation that drives the burning liquid down her face hole? Is that pathetic cry for attention party girl's feelings or is that how the real Sunny is? Who's smile is this, rebellious daughter or some girl at a bar's? Sunny is to dazed to piece it together. Another drink pours down her throat, scorching the lining and blurring her vision.

Sunny doesn't care because she is a pretty girl. Just like Gwen. Sunny is all about her and she and I. Just like her mom and her mom's mom. And she wants to be broken for being so self centered and manipulative. She can't love a good guy and bad guys don't know how to love her. She's a beautiful being that can't decide what shade of person to put on for the day. Sunny lies, all the time, to everyone. Including herself.

A pair of unfamiliar hands carcass where her breast would be and she encourages it. Antonio- Mario- whatever is growling. Let them fight. She, whoever that is- wants it._ Let's cause chaos, _she decides. _Let's have some fun._

Another shot burns it's way down her throat.

Sunny is a messed up girl.

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><p><strong>This was really fun to write! Sunny interests me so much, she isn't the exact opposite of Gwen but more of the anti-Gwen in the same way Abedlo is anti-Ben. She has insecurities and fears like Gwen but they cover it up in different ways. I like being in her head. It was easy and hard to write in only She and Sunny. Easy because it just a pronoun and a name, hard because I've been taught from like second grade not to do this. But it fits her character and mkes it almost a narration. I would imagine that Sunny could do a lot of what we seen Verdonna do, just not as good. I can see her focusing in on more physical powers like mana manipulation and <strong>**beautification. I really want to see the full scope of Anodyte powers...A girl can dream right? Any way, review? Please? Thanks!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey! I've started writing a few for who I can do for chapter 3...It turned out weird how I got to Eunice. I was planning on doing Kevin or Cooper and had started toying around with Alan. Cooper's and Alan's never got off the ground and Kevin's is stuck in writer's block limbo. So after talking to WinterCo****ma(Thanks for the support/help!), I got the idea to do Eunice. But after this, I'm doing a boy! This chickz (with a z because z's are cool) club needs to end! I think I'mma do Cooper's then Kevin's. Kevin's will get bloody. So look for that.(With this one there is a major trigger warning for self harm.)**

**Anywhoooosss. Enjoy!**

Chapter 3: Frozen Heart Rate

She looks down at her hand. It is warm, like a humans, and hums with blood. She could hear it. Her pulse. It pounds in her ears like the heavy foot steps of Myaxx. This super hearing, though temporary, isn't human, it's rabbit.

Her hand has five digits, not four or two, as the healthy human anatomy dictates. Eunice has seen that diagram, among several thousand other depictions of different bodies, over and over again. Humans are comparatively simply when put up against living plant organisms and balls of gas or energy. Humans are fragile and weak, yet they have so many diverse forms. Unlike most species, Earthlings have the uncanny ability to create a multitude of different cultures and languages. Humans can come in all different shades, have disabilities and diseases, and some are born limbless. On most planets, if children didn't look exactly like their parents, they are a deformity. Such useless children are a burden to communities. Some don't survive childhood. But on Earth it's different. You don't even need a hand to be called a human. You simply are.

The omnitrix prototype throws down her hand in disgust, knocking over jars of plant specimens. The small bunny curled up next to her sensed the sudden angry and takes off. She doesn't try to call it back. The blonde looks to the skyline of the bustling trees and tucks a bit of flying hair behind her ear. She doesn't know why she did that but in the many Earth movies, girls who do that are painted as desirable and heroic.

Eunice wants to be desirable. She doesn't want to give into animal instincts and flee at a moments notice. She wants to be heroic. Like the lovely ladies in the films. They wear pretty dresses and over sized sunglasses, not fitted space suits and protective goggles. They are fabulous- whatever that meant- and beautiful. Boys would do anything, lie, kill, and destroy themselves just to get a piece of these girls.

Eunice's mind travels to Ben. The Savior of the World. Hero of Heroes. Perfect in name only, the assistant wishes she never meet him. She would be able to admire and lust for him from afar if he remained an abstract idea that would never come true. Then maybe she would be able to scream like all the other girls at his feet and believe that he would be the perfect hero for her; a beautiful heroic girl. Yes, a sweet dream, she wishes.

Eunice picks up a flower specimen, _Tetraneuris _Greene, scans it, and then neatly places it in a jar of bio-freezing ooze. The liquid will preserve the flower, just encase it's species ever died out for some reason. The flower can be preserved for thousands of years, trapped in eternal beauty. Prefect right?

Wrong?

What is beauty that last forever? Nothing. You are meant to fade, to wrinkle, naturally and slowly until your final breathe is drawn. Life _needs _to give away to death. Humans changes so beautifully through life. Their cycle happens fluidly, the transition from baby to child to adult a smooth motion. Even as humans steadily wilt, their humanity is still as bright as the day they were born. _That_ is the beauty of life.

Death. A mysterious thing that all intelligent creatures take time to ponder. The prototype wonders what it feels like, what is there after it. Her breathe becomes labored as if she just ran miles without any aid of animal DNA.

Would death hurt or at a certain point, does the pain vanish and the body gives in to basic need of release? Could you feel your heart stop, your lungs? Her hand is shaky on the scanner, the tiny computer dysfunctions and computes an error. She places both hands on the device to steady herself. Her heart shaped face feels hot.

What would shut down first?

The brain could survive for minutes after being severed from the rest of the body. Could she still be conscious as a bullet spun through her heart or a boulder crushed her lungs?

"Eunice."

Her head was spinning. Her heart racing; would it stop suddenly?

"Eunice!"

The powers of the rabbit had faded and she was left human. _Human. _Those things grow, they die. She couldn't be human. She _isn't_ human.

A tiny gray hand slaps at hers. She gasps in surprised and drops the jar and the scanner completely. Azmuth glares up at her with annoyance. His assistant had ignoring him. Overlooked him. As if he was some small insignificant speck. He is a super genius. You. Don't. Ignore. GENUIS!

"I-I'm sorry Azmuth s-sir." She murmurs down at him. She couldn't help but get into such a powerful sway. Thinking about the mere notion of death put her in a sort of tizzy. It makes her drunk, even though she never touch alcohol in the period of her activation.

"You better be! And look, you dropped a jar. Do you know how much it takes for me to recreate that bio-freezing agent cleaning up your silly messes?" He's making a bigger deal of the situation then it really was. The gel could be copied with little effort and Eunice is doing a fantastic job already.

She is a hard worker, Azmuth knows, and a valuable member of their team. But he would never say it aloud. He notice how she gets into strange trances, misty eyed and shaking. He worried, not because he would lose a helping hand but because her well being was in jeopardy. She is, after all, his daughter of sorts. But he keeps his affections to himself. Praise and concern are some of the few things out of the Galvan's small grasps. It is better to yell and fuss then to let them know you care...It would make more sense if you were a genius like him.

"I'll clean it up! I'm sorry!" Eunice, still dizzy, scrambles to recover.

"Don't bother. Myaxx is here with our transportation back to base. Just take the samples you have now and put them in the storage unit. Then, come and clean up this mess." The gray genius stalked off in a huff, probably to scold other lab helpers for something else.

Slowly, the prototype stands up. The blood rushes to her head but at least she finally felt stable. She collects the persevered specimens and shuffles to the hovering carts. She neatly arranges the jars by genus and class, checking and double checking to make sure there's no mistakes. She works quickly and quietly as she focuses extra hard on the scientific names of the plants and not on...other things.

Her fascination and soon consuming obsession with death started when she first seen Azmuth dissect an animal one day not soon after her activation. It never really occurred to her that the animal had a life before and wasn't always a husk of flesh to be examined. She couldn't, and hadn't, imagined that the small beast, a Vulpimancer pup, walked and talked. That it had a mom, a dad, maybe some siblings. That it once had a dream, if Vulpimancers could dream at all. And now it was dead. Gone forever.

Such a realization scared Eunice. She was still relatively young to the ways of the world despite her teenage appearances. She learned quickly and was naturally -no, programmed to be- intelligent but emotions like that couldn't be learned, only experienced. Like the child she was, she started to cry and scream. _What had she been the Vulpimancer pup on the table? What if she had died and her body was treated like that!_ She remembers screaming at the gray scientist. Eunice couldn't help but smile at her own impudence.

With calculated precision, Azmuth continued his work and dismissed her question.

_"Death isn't a problem for the Unitrix. The core you are made from is connected to a base. If your body was ever to die, a perfect copy of your DNA can be reloaded to create another you again. That is the beauty of your design...Too bad it is limited to one single DNA sample or I would have done the same for the Ultimatrix."_

She couldn't die. Well, technically she could but it wouldn't be for long. She would just be downloaded again, her body will form, and her memories, saved in a computer hard-drive, would be opened up like a file. Her body wouldn't age past 25, the prime age of reproductive health for female humans. Just encase the world blow up or the population is wiped out, she would still be there to make sure humans weren't wide-off the face of the universe. A _Tetraneuris _Greene in Bio-freezing agent. Eunice grimaced at the similarities between her and the plants in the cart. She is suppose to sit, frozen in storage until hell broke loss and the world needed her reproductive organs.

She was the Preserver of the World.

And that fact, all that responsibility, scared her. She wasn't like the daring girls in the movies. Eunice wasn't a heroine. She was a machine, a broken failed experiment that severed another purpose by accident. She was so close to being nothing but so far from death. How could that be?

Notions of death, it's effects, it's inner workings, started to pollute her mind frequently. She couldn't stop thinking about it, examining it like it was the Vulpimancer on the table. Eunice wanted was intrigued by death. It was the one of the few things that kept her from her dream, humanity, but instead of resenting death she was captivated in it's glory. It wasn't life that made humans live, it was death! The one sole thing each and everyone of them had in common. They all died.

Maybe it was because she had Tennyson blood coursing through her veins, maybe it was a defect in her programming, but Eunice soon got addicted to such lovely thoughts of demise. She wanted to feel her head rush at the pain of knowing she couldn't. She was addicted to the misery, the ups and downs of faking human life, a robot in human skin.

And like most addicts, she develops a need for more.

"Stop wasting time Eunice and get the carts on the ship!" Azmuth bellows from his floating platform. The scientist of questionable sanity hovers back around to two other assistant who are busy finishing up scans on some of the bacterium in the water of a near by pond.

"Yes sir!" The immortal machine pushes the cart up the ramp and into the space shuttle. The newest innovation in technology lined the walls and other helpers of various species walk or slide in and out of the vehicle. Eunice keeps her eyes lock on her rattling cart, refusing to make eye contact with the other faces. She breathes in deeply in attempts to steady her air flow. Her pupils dilate as she turn the corner into the supply closet.

A quick release is coming. Something to calm the cravings of the raving addict.

The last nameless aid leaves the room. Eunice is free to park her cart among the hundreds of rows of other depowered carriers. Blue eyes survey the tops of the other racks. There has to be one. _Has_ to be.

A glint of sliver sticking out in the seas of hospital white draws.

Her heart bashes against her chest, her legs nearly give out. Shaking but quick fingers snatch up the thin blade, one designed just for dissecting animals.

She can't wait. The urge is too strong. Without absorbing any animal DNA, she is relying on furl instinct. A need to satisfy an itch that can never go away, she is left biting at herself like a rapid dog. Thoughts don't come through quiet right when she gets like this. All that matters is the feeling. Death. Cool metal against her warm flesh. Her pulse buzzing.

Eunice slices her arm, right near her flexor capri ulnaris, and blood gushes forth in thick pooling drops. Crimson starts to run round the curve of her arm. Another cut and she screams in pain, falling to the floor. This is what death is. Cringing on the floor, draining away all of life's liquid. She, if she moves past the searing sting, could feel the blinding power of death. The numbness teases her. Tempting her to give another slice, maybe her throat this time, just to capture this fleeting bit of peace tantalizing her.

Then, it's gone.

Eunice's auto repair kicks in. New skin is graphed and regenerating over the open wounds. Her nervous system is regulated and the pain is eased. Everything is set perfectly fine again. Eunice is left on the floor, uniform caked in her own dried blood, a pretty dress in it's own right.

What you want the most is what you can't ever have.

Eunice clenches the knife in her hand, releases it, then repeats it. She doesn't realize that she is crying until fat tears plop onto the flat surface of the blade.

**I really don't like this one. It seems to dragged on and on just to make Eunice this. Not as good as the first two but I do liked the characterization I meant to pull off. (idk if it's clear or well executed) Eunice, to me, is the preserver of human DNA. She has to be in a set age group for peak female fertility and she can never die because her DNA and then her memories, emotions, and thoughts would be saved on the base because she is connected to the Unitrix still. I really like the concept. I just hope I got her suicidal thoughts across without shoving down to much stufff, this chapter was so long.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay you guys, I'm back. I had the craziest time this summer, two hospitalizations for self harm and eating disorders and a shit load of therapy. This one is going to be short and sweet. Something cute until I get in the mood to write a long one. I'm sorry for the long waiting for all of you that give a shit. I'm really am. Sorry! Enjoy please.**

Chapter 4: The eyes of a child

Small. Kevin Levin was small. He was a rather scrawny kid with naturally thin limbs. He was a bit on the short side all his young life. He only weighted sixty pounds at the age of seven soaking wet. He was small, tiny, but not fragile.

The dark haired boy never was or would be fragile. He, even when losing, would fight. His mere existence was a struggle and this eternal problem leaked down to all aspects of his life. School was a never ending challenge. Not only was he the weird kid in the corner that never did any work he also never knew when to shut up. Most of his problems came up from a wise crack that was just a bit too rude to be taken as a joke. He came home with scrapes and cuts on his hands and face on more then one occasion.

His home life was a fight. He loved his mother and father. They were caring and kind. He could always go to them for a warm hug when he was frightened or a good laugh. He loved his parents but Harvey was not his parent. Harvey was a man, a stranger. He came in a few months after his dad had died.

Kevin, unlike his mom, preferred his dad's passing to be known as death. He didn't need sugar coated words. The blunt harshness of death, the dying, made it so real and clear to him. The boy never wanted to forget it. Euphemisms have an uncanny way of dulling memories. He was killed; dead and gone. He wasn't sleeping forever or lost. Kevin's father was dead. And Harvey was a replacement. No matter what his mother said, that's what he was. For this reason, and this reason alone, Kevin acted out. He used his powers where he wasn't supposed to, fought tooth and nail with Harvey on everything, and never went down easy. Replacements were not people. Harvey didn't and would never be able to control him.

But Kevin was weak. He could fight all he wanted, shock and fry every electric appliance in the house, but his fits caused no more then a rumble in the grand scheme of things. He was a child.

With tiny child eyes he looked down about the bird in his hand. His slim fingers wrung around it's small neck as tight as a vice. The panic in the animal's eyes was exhilarating. Here, atop his apartment building, he was big and strong. He didn't need to fight, he was already king. King of the filth that was his kingdom; king over all rejected scum. Here, he didn't need his powers to cause such lovely chaos. With raw strength, he closed the bird's windpipe. It cried and scratched at his fist but he wouldn't relent. He was king preying on his citizens as he saw fit.

The bird's head soon went limp in his grasp. Holding on for a few more moments, to make sure, Kevin released the bird. It's body fell lifeless on cool cement in a pile of it's own feathers.

Kevin was small but the bird was smaller.

**Yeah...short simple and sweet. Lil' Kevin is a coocoo bird. I read up on signs of children sociopaths and it said that one of the tell tale signs were no remorse in animal cruelty. Pretty proud of this one. Leave a review if you don't mind. :3**


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